


Chaos, Order, Time

by denise (denise3)



Category: Babylon 5, Doctor Who
Genre: Doctor Who AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denise3/pseuds/denise
Summary: The Doctor has been mostly successful in avoiding this galaxy during his last few incarnations. But one day he finds himself in a huge human space station, and he's maybe too curious for his own (and everyone else's) good. The year is 2258. The name of the place is Babylon 5.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 33





	1. The Doctor arrives

**Author's Note:**

> For B5, this starts somewhere near the end of the first season, after episode 1.13 "Signs and Portents", but before "Chrysalis" (1.22). It may contain spoilers for the first four seasons though. For the Doctor, this is an alternate Doctor, in an alternate Universe, though he's similar enough (at first glance) to Tennant's Doctor.  
> BTW, I don't own B5, nor Doctor Who. If you assumed otherwise, I'm sorry for your sanity.

A strange, mechanical groaning sound reverberated in a dark recessed corner in an abandoned corridor in Brown sector. The sound repeated itself a number of times, in sync with a light flashing and a box-shaped blue shadow appearing and disappearing, until it finally materialized with a bump. The anachronistic blue box sat there silently, unseen by anyone, for a few minutes. Inside it, in a room that was way too big to fit within the volume occupied by the box, stood alone a tall man, dressed in some sort of blue suit. He examined the monitors and registers in a strange hexagonal console, with a baffled expression.

"Why, Old Girl? Why are we here?" but the box didn't respond. He tried pressing some buttons and activating a pair of levers, but the console just grumbled. "All right, all right. I'll have a look around." He disappeared through a doorway set in the walls, which led to the interior of the fantastic machine.

The box stood silently in the shadows for some ten minutes, unnoticed, until a door creaked open. The man slipped out, pulling up an incongruous brown overcoat, and walked down the corridor.

* * *

The man, who called himself the Doctor, wandered around the stalls on the Zocalo, one of the busiest areas of the Babylon space station. He looked around curiously, watching the buyers and merchants, smiling as he recognized each of the various species that visited the station. He was clearly more interested in the people than the various wares on sale, and walked slowly around. Twice, some shady individuals tried to tail him, thinking that perhaps he'd make for a good mark. Twice he turned and stared at them, and they quickly reevaluated their chances and dispersed. He was otherwise unnoticed, most others dismissing him after a quick glance, including the security guards, of whom there was a good number around. The man briefly observed them, his face twisted slightly in disgust at the uniforms.

The man's interest was briefly piqued when he saw a small group moving around, headed by a human in an EarthForce commander's uniform. That would be the station's commander, he guessed, one fellow named Sinclair. Another soldier, he thought, unimpressed. Their voices raised, discussing something in one of the stalls, and he glanced back in their direction, only to do a double-take. He raised his eyebrows, something only he could see grabbing his attention. He began to discreetly follow the group, noting with interest the other people that stopped to talk with Sinclair, and watching his words and actions. But he quickly found out that he hadn't quite managed to be discreet enough, as the station's security chief, one tough guy named Garibaldi, soon accosted him, with two other guards as backup.

"Who are you, and what do you want with the Commander?"

"Sorry, what do you mean, Chief?" was the man's unworried response. "I'm Doctor John Smith, see?" he said, presenting a worn leather wallet, holding an identicard to that name. "I'm just looking around."

"Just looking around, following the Commander for the last seven minutes, were you? Give me that," he said, taking his wallet to examine it. The handheld ID verifier confirmed the validity of the man's identity, but the security chief was nothing if not suspicious.

"And you are?" the man replied, unflustered, as Garibaldi unsuccessfully looked for the records of the man's arrival.

"I'm Security Chief Michael Garibaldi, and you're coming with us." It was quite possible that the man was another one of those Homeguard infiltrators, and Garibaldi wanted to question him.

Garibaldi was ready to subdue the man by force, half expecting him to resist arrest, but the man followed them docilely enough, smiling all the time, as if that was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

* * *

The interrogation wasn't going very well. The man was irritatingly hard to pin down. No matter how hard Garibaldi tried to trap him with his questions, he smoothly deflected, never losing his cool.

"Who are you?" he tried again.

"I've told you, I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"If you prefer."

"Your identicard is a very good forgery, but that's all it is. It says your name is John Smith, but we've checked back with Earth Central and there's no one with that name matching your face."

"Well, I'd be really surprised if there was."

"Look, mister, you may think it's a joke, but you're neck-deep in trouble. I already have you for falsified ID and illegal entry. Are you part of those Homeguard lunatics?"

"Homeguard? No no no. I just want to talk to your Commander Sinclair."

Garibaldi tried to lean harder, threatening him, but the man simply refused to answer any more, and asked again to talk to Commander Sinclair. Unwilling to resort to violence, Garibaldi stomped out of the interrogation room and ordered his men to take the prisoner to a cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another story, another universe. I'm cleaning up my ideas chest, putting up whatever I have that is good enough. This one I quite like, though I'll probably never develop enough to do it justice. This is a story that came to me one day, while remembering the fantastic show that was Babylon 5, and wishing we had more like it. It assumes knowledge of the basic plot of the show, without which some things may not make much sense.
> 
> This story is set on a B5 Universe where there are Time Lords, similar to my To Boldly Go Universe (with B5 instead of Star Trek). This Doctor is similar to David Tennant's Doctor, but he's not the tenth incarnation of the Time Lord. In fact he's younger here, there has never been a Last Great Time War (but there have been more than enough Time Wars) and there are no Daleks. As in TBG, the Doctor (and Time Lords in general) tend to stay away from the Milky Way (or Mutter's Spiral, both names for Earth's galaxy). Though here it's for different reasons than in TBG. Sort of. So the Doctor is familiar with human history, up to a point, but aside from a few preferred periods in Earth history, he tries to stay away. Until, of course, the TARDIS drops him there. Which also tend to occur from time to time. What will the Doctor do? This Doctor is (currently) companionless, and quite a bit more dangerous than the one we know and love.
> 
> For an excellent (and complete) B5xDW crossover story, see Shadow of the Doctor, by Kythrae (on FFNet), where Four (oh I love Four) with Romana find themselves on B5 and accidentaly solve, sort of, a few bad things that happened (and nearly botch it all). There are many others, some of them shorts (some very good), others, unfortunately, incomplete. For one which I'd really love to see completed, see Angels of Babylon by Azaz3llo.


	2. Escape attempt

It was late. Or very early, depending on how you looked at it. Garibaldi finished checking the records of the passengers of the last ship of the day and glanced back to the other screens in his security console. He almost missed it, but he had been suspicious of the strange prisoner since he first saw him in the Zocalo. He looked again at the screen, apparently showing the man sleeping in his cot.

Garibaldi was nothing if not stubborn, and paranoid, and there was something just wrong with the so-called Doctor John Smith. He'd decided to leave him in the brig for the night, hoping that he'd be more amenable to questions in the morning. He wasn't about to bother the Commander just because his prisoner had asked for him. He'd have to give some real reasons first, and preferably some answers as well.

What his subconscious had already noticed suddenly became clear to his eyes now: the figure in the cot was way too small for the tall man that had so skilfully avoided answering his questions in the previous evening. It seemed that the man had found some way to escape the brig. It wasn't a high-security cell, but it wasn't exactly easy to escape, not without some inside help. Worried and distrustful, Garibaldi quickly called forth the security tapes for the last few minutes, since his last check-up of the screens. Scanning the tape, he watched how the man somehow managed to open the cell door and slip out in the exact moment the guard went to the loo (quite hurriedly, in fact). The man had even stopped to collect his personal belongings from the lockbox where they were stashed, which he opened using some strange pen tool that they must have missed when they searched him. And then he slipped out into the corridor.

It had been a tremendous coincidence, since Garibaldi himself had been distracted exactly at the same time. At any other moment, he'd have caught the man in the act. And Garibaldi didn't trust coincidences.

The space station's chief of security knew very well the layout of his security section, and knew where the man would have to go through if he had any hope to slip out quietly and undetected. There was just enough time to intercept him. So he moved quickly to stand concealed in the corridor, and when 'John Smith' turned the corner, there he was, smirking.

"Hello, Doctor Smith, you can stay where you are. Couldn't sleep, could you?" Garibaldi had his hand on the holster of his PPG, but he didn't draw it yet. He remembered well how outraged the man had been, when he claimed that he hated guns. He'd managed to escape without hurting anyone, he hadn't resisted arrest or acted with violence, and of his strange possessions not one seemed to be a weapon, so Garibaldi was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and not point the gun at him. Besides, his reaction might tell him something new about the man. He had called for reinforcements, but there'd be a couple of minutes before they arrived, so for the moment it would be just the two of them.

Doctor Smith froze when he saw Garibaldi. Evidently he'd been certain he'd managed to escaped unscathed, and was patently surprised and frustrated - though apparently not angry - at being caught. For a brief moment at least. Then his expression opened up and he looked at Garibaldi with a shrewd look, approaching respect. He had been walking with his hands thrust inside the pockets of his overcoat, so he took them out slowly and held them away of the body, enough that Garibaldi could see that he wasn't going to resist recapture.

"Nah, just wanted to stroll a bit, you know, help digestion..." Garibaldi recalled that the man had wolfed down the rather unremarkable food given to the prisoners for dinner. "Wasn't expecting my absence would be noticed so quickly, in fact," he admitted ruefully. "I underestimated you, Mr. Garibaldi. I've never been recaptured so quickly, weeeell, not quite, there had been that time, well a couple of times... All right, a few times, but you really surprised me. That's not something easy to do, you know."

"Are you in the habit of being arrested everywhere you go, then?" asked Garibaldi, surprised.

"No, not everywhere, just about a fifth, no, maybe, more or less, a third of the places I go."

"And do you manage to escape every time?"

"Yes, well, most of the times, some other times..." And he stopped speaking, eyes unfocused and face scowling as if remembering something nasty.

"What do you do to get arrested everywhere you go?" Garibaldi asked, curious in spite of himself, that the man was so willing to talk himself deeper into trouble now, after having managed to say nothing of substance for so long.

"Ah, just my bad habit of poking my nose where I'm not welcome, you know," he said, eyes sparkling mischievously. He looked at Garibaldi, and the chief of security was suddenly convinced that the man was very aware of everything he said and was very smart indeed. And probably very dangerous. He considered whether it wouldn't be wiser to draw his weapon and point it towards the man, whom he suddenly noticed was far too close for comfort. But then Dr. Smith grinned a jovial and open smile, and the feeling of danger receded as if it'd never been there. Garibaldi felt uneasy at the man's mercurial humour, and became even warier. "Of course it has been a long time since I've been arrested by humans, so maybe I'm just out of habit."

"So you admit you're not human," joked Garibaldi.

"Exactly!" Doctor Smith beamed.

"No! Wait. No no no no no. You look human!"

"So do the Centauri and the Asshkefissh," the last name had a couple of whistles Garibaldi doubted he'd be able to reproduce.

"Askefish? Who are they?"

"Asshkefissh!" The man corrected. "Oh, I forgot, you haven't met them yet, they're a bit farther away than you've reached up to now. Quite a bit farther, in fact."

"So you're not an Ashkefish?" He tried saying the name, without much success, but the other didn't bother correcting him again.

"No no, why would you think so?"

"Centauri, then?"

"Nooo! Of course not!" He exclaimed, as if outraged. "They're almost as stuffy as..." He trailed off, frowning.

"Whose species are you then?"

At that moment the two other guards arrived, hands on their weapons but not drawn, following the lead of their security chief. Garibaldi gestured that they keep their distance and relaxed a bit. Noticing that, 'Doctor Smith' dropped his hands and pushed them inside his pockets again, grinning madly and rolling on the balls of his feet. Garibaldi decided to let it pass. If the man had wanted to resist arrest he'd already missed his opportunity, and Garibaldi doubted he was armed. He kept his guard up, anyway.

"I'm from Gallifrey! And yes, you've never heard of it before, and I very much doubt you'll ever meet another gallifreyan in your life! It's really, really far away," he explained, beaming.

Garibaldi wasn't sure if he believed the man or not. Sure, there were the Centauri to prove that an alien might look just like a human, but yet another species, let alone two, that could be confused for humans! That was stretching it. The man could just be mad, of course, or lying through his teeth. Still, if there was a chance he was telling the truth, he had to take him to the Commander. Maybe giving him enough rope would be enough to let him hang himself, he hoped. Smart guys often suffered from being too clever for their own good.

"So you're a gallifreyan with a human name."

"Of course not! It's just an alias. I was trying to blend in. No point in calling attention to me after all. You humans are already too paranoid with aliens and all."

"So what's your name?" Garibaldi interrupted.

"I'm The Doctor!" He said, a huge smile plastered on his face.

"Doctor? Doctor what?"

"Just The Doctor, yes!"

"Very well, Doctor, please come with us."

"Good! Take me to your leader!" Added the Doctor, with mock seriousness.

"You can talk to the commander in the morning. He's sleeping now, and you should be too. I hope it's all right with you," Garibaldi added, just in case this was a real first contact, "but I can't arrange other quarters at this late hour. You'll have to sleep in our cell."

"Hm. It's no big problem. I've slept in worse places. It's fairly comfortable, even. For a cell."

"Can I trust that you won't try to leave us again? Otherwise I'd have to explain to the Commander how his first contact has disappeared during the night, and he wouldn't be happy with me." He didn't want to try to pat down the man again, he doubted he'd get better results than the first time. Besides, that wouldn't be very diplomatic right now. He'd rather keep his eyes glued to the screen in case the man did try to run away again. And have two guards stand right outside his cell instead of one down the corridor.

"No problem. That's what I want, really, talk to your Commander Sinclair."

They began walking back to the brig, the guards following them.

"Have you learned about Earth culture through old TV programs?" Garibaldi asked, because, really, 'take me to your leader', that was old.

"Yes, in part," the supposed alien admitted. "I'm very fond of them."

"Why do you have a British accent?"

"Oh, that's because I really love the chips!" He exclaimed brightly, skipping ahead, and Garibaldi wasn't sure if he was to be taken seriously or not. He could almost believe the guy was happy at having been caught!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more chapter written, but it needs some more editing. After that, I'm not sure if or when I'll write anything else for this story. I'm really not sure where to take it. Though imagining the Doctor meeting, and having to deal with, the many characters and events of the series is interesting in itself. I'm not sure if I'd stick to canon, though.


	3. The Players, Part I

It was early, and Sinclair was unhappy. The day was bound to be a busy one, so he'd woken early, taking only a coffee and toast as breakfast, hoping for a mid-morning break and some sampling in the new delicatessen that'd opened in the Zocalo. Garibaldi had left him a note, late the night before, saying that his new prisoner claimed to be an alien from a so-far unknown civilization, and the commander had hoped it'd make an interesting diversion from his schedule. But he hadn't made up his mind yet if he was ready to believe the man. Doctor Franklin should be around in half an hour or so to verify the self-declared alien's claim. Meanwhile Sinclair tried to get some answers from the guy.

"You haven't said yet how you managed to come onboard Babylon 5. You didn't pass through the checkpoints."

"Well, you see, my ship wouldn't like your docking system." The man reclined in his chair, twitching as if about to put his feet up in the table, but stopped himself just in time. Garibaldi had nearly blown a fuse when he last tried to do it. Well, at least this 'Doctor Smith' was capable of *some* self-restraint, Sinclair thought wryly. "So I just beamed up inside," the prisoner completed, grinning maniacally.

"Beamed up? You mean, you dematerialized and rematerialized inside my station?" Such technology was unheard of outside fiction. If true, that'd mean he was really from a very advanced civilization. But given his behavior so far, Sinclair was more inclined to believe that Garibaldi was right in doubting his sanity. He glanced at his security chief, resting against the wall behind the prisoner. Garibaldi stared back, inclining his head towards the prisoner and shrugging. "Where's your ship, then?" 

"She's camouflaged. She can be very discreet, you see."

"I see. So you're Doctor John Smith-"

"Just the Doctor, please!" 

"You're called 'the Doctor', a traveller from Gallifrey, a planet from another galaxy, and you're just passing through-"

"I didn't want to cause any trouble," the prisoner said, leaning forward, "to you or to your security chief, so if you just let me go, I'll be out of your hair before you notice me again."

"Not so fast! You still have to explain what you were doing in my station-" 

"Oh, nothing! I was just curious, this big space station, built by humans, to promote peace and diplomacy! You're brilliant," he gushed, grinning widely.

Sinclair shook his head, nonplussed, and tried to get back on topic. "You were seen following me around in the Zocalo, and you asked to speak with me. Why? Is there something you want from me?"

'The Doctor' relaxed back in his chair, straightening his legs under the table and pushing his hands into the pockets of his brown jacket. But his eyes were fixed upon Sinclair, and the commander had to stare back at him. "You are not what I thought you'd be, Commander. And that's good, that's very good." He smiled, and Sinclair shivered. His eyes seemed to look right into his soul. "No, I don't want something from you, though it seems others do. You'd do well to pay attention to your inner voice." The man didn't look crazy any longer. He looked terrifying, like an ancient prophet of doom. "That little voice that tells you not to trust mysterious strangers, nor even more mysterious friends." But before he could think about it, the impression dissolved as a dark cloud that was blown away, and there was sympathy and softness in those eyes and smile. "I wish you all good fortune, for you personally and for humanity in general. And now it seems I've attracted the attention of one of your mysterious friends." He grinned, before sitting erect, looking behind Sinclair and becoming serious for the first time that morning.

A moment passed while Sinclair tried to collect himself enough to resume the questioning. But then the door opened and a guard entered.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Ambassador Kosh is here. He insists that he needs to speak with the prisoner, right now."

"All right, let him in." Sinclair could use the interruption to try to settle his mind. Besides, he was curious about what the Vorlon would want from this possibly insane human. Or, he thought it seemed more likely now, their new alien contact.

Kosh entered the interrogation room, ignoring both Sinclair and Garibaldi, and slid closer to the table until he was facing the prisoner, who'd stood, pushing his chair back, and was now facing the Vorlon back, expressionless, with his hands still inside his pockets. 

"Who are you?" Kosh asked, before Sinclair could say anything.

"That's the question, isn't it?" The Doctor asked back, raising an eyebrow. "One of them, at least. Go ahead and look, if you're that curious!"

After an instant, Sinclair had the distinct impression that the Vorlon shuddered, though he hadn't moved other than widening his 'eye'.

"You shouldn't be here," Kosh said.

"I'm the Doctor, and I go where I go," the Doctor replied.

"You are not needed. Leave. Your presence will upset the balance."

"That's not my problem. You know why I'm here." The Doctor was frowning now, and both humans felt the tension rise within the room.

Kosh seemed to hesitate, then, without turning, he asked, in a different tone of voice, almost whispering, "Leave us alone. Leave, now." 

Both Sinclair and Garibaldi knew that was a request directed to them. Not even a demand as he'd usually do. But Sinclair wasn't sure if he should leave the room, given the tense situation. The Doctor, as their prisoner, was his responsibility, and he didn't know what Kosh wanted with him. However, as he turned to speak to the Doctor, he saw the man briefly glancing at him and nodding slightly. So the commander gestured to Garibaldi, and they left the room. Once the door was closed, Garibaldi urged him to his workstation, where the video feed would allow them to monitor what's happening inside the interrogation room. However, as they arrived and began watching, the screen suddenly blacked out.

* * *

Inside the interrogation room, both Kosh and the Doctor stood at the same spot, not moving or saying anything until the video feed from the room was interrupted.

"Time Lord, this does not concern you. This is our dispute," the Vorlon began.

"It's been going on for far too long, hasn't it?" The not-human smirked.

"There are rules. We must follow them."

"I'm not bound by your rules. You have involved these people, and you shouldn't have."

"They are not your concern," Kosh tried.

"Ooh, wrong answer. Tell me that's not a closed time loop what I've felt here," the Doctor replied. The other was silent inside his encounter suit, so he continued, "That's why. You are trying to take the upper hand, and resorted to using Time. You want to win." It wasn't a question.

"The cycle has gone on for too long."

"But you can't account for what your opponent will do. Your conflict is escalating. Time is involved, now. This must end." The Doctor stared at the Vorlon, and the other felt the storm behind his eyes. "The question is, are you going to oppose me?" 

Kosh paused, looking at the Doctor. He himself had been the prime force behind the move, centuries before. He was tired, too, of the cycle. He wanted to end it. He didn't know what the Time Lord would do, and what it would cost them. However, defying the Time Lord would not only go against their convictions, but Kosh believed it'd be pointless, and could cost them everything.

"No," he finally replied. "Are you going to stay here?" Maybe the Doctor would allow him to atone for his mistakes.

"That's still to be decided. But it's as good a place as any. Or even better, seeing as most everyone involved is here as well," the Doctor rambled a bit, before closing his mouth and fixing Kosh with a glare. "We'll talk, later."

The Vorlon inclined his head respectfully, and left the room. The humans were waiting outside, after trying unsuccessfully to enter the room while they were talking. He tried to go past them, but Sinclair wanted answers. So, after glancing inside the room and seeing the Doctor placidly sitting back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head as if bored, the commander stepped in front of the Vorlon.

"What was that all about, who is he?" he asked.

"Not your concern."

"Of course he is my concern, he is in my station."

"If he is human, he's under our jurisdiction," added Garibaldi.

"You don't know who he is," was the cryptic reply.

"Then tell me, is he a friend or an enemy?"

"Not the enemy," Kosh replied, after a couple of seconds. "You cannot hold him. Let him go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've broken my "Players" chapter into two, maybe three parts, so I can post something this week. I'm working on the next few chapters of _The Enterprise and the Doctor_ , but it's not that easy. So when I need to leave the ideas settle in for a bit to see if I'm happy with them, I work on this and two other fics.  
> I think I now have an idea where to take this fic, though I'll not commit to a posting schedule (it clearly doesn't work with me). The chapters will tend to be shorter and more to the point. I'll take this in a different direction than most other stories of this type, but it might take a while before there are any large deviations from canon.


	4. The Players, Part II

Sinclair watched the screen, unperturbed by Garibaldi's pacing behind his back. Doctor Franklin had asked them to leave the cell so he could examine the supposed alien, without them breathing down their necks, as he said. So they'd moved back to Garibaldi's office in order to monitor them. Their prisoner was sitting on the table, buttoning his shirt up after a brief physical examination. Franklin stood at his side, apparently using some medical scanner, and talking. Probably asking questions, happily answered by the other. "They look very friendly," he commented.

"Franklin is always friendly," his chief security officer snorted. "And if he's really a new alien?"

"Then we release him," the commander said. He'd already accepted that it was most likely true, after what happened with Kosh.

"He did bypass security to enter the station," Garibaldi complained.

"You may question him again on that. But the worst we can do is kick him out of the station, and I don't want to do that. He hasn't been hostile so far. I don't want to risk this changing." Not with someone who'd rattled the Vorlon ambassador that badly. "Did you find anything that could explain how he got into the station?"

"Nothing," was the frustrated reply. "We did a full visual inspection, the hull's clean. I've also checked all the tapes. I've ran out of things to check," Garibaldi huffed. "Unless he's lying and he got help from the inside to smuggle him past security, the only explanation I can give you is magic."

"And his ship?" The Doctor had claimed he didn't know about the station's security, and that he just did what he always did, he materialized aboard the station. He could be telling the truth and belong to an extremely advanced civilization equipped with fantastical technology, but Sinclair wasn't ready to believe that yet. The alien looked entirely too normal to him. Except for that moment just before Kosh entered the cell, he recalled with a shiver.

"No trace of an unidentified ship anywhere in the sector. And yes, we've also checked the hyperspace near the beacon. Maybe they dropped him here somehow before moving away."

"He said he'd leave if we let him go. Maybe you could tail him and see how he does it," Sinclair grinned, half-seriously. He didn't doubt that was exactly his head of security's intention.

"We'll see," the other grumped.

After a few more minutes when all they could see Franklin and their prisoner doing was talk, Sinclair decided it was enough. Whatever exams his CMO wanted to do must better be completed by now, he thought. They entered the cell and listened to the tail end of one of Franklin's hitchhiking adventures before the Minbari war, followed by an excited comment from their prisoner, asking for some details.

"Do you have an answer for me, Doctor?" Sinclair interrupted. Both of them turned to look at him, before looking back at each other and grinning. He frowned, and Franklin noticed it.

"It's all right, Commander, we've just been talking."

"And?"

"The Doctor here is definitely not human," Franklin said.

"And what is he?" Garibaldi stepped in.

"Gallifreyan!" The Doctor interjected brightly, jumping from the table before taking his jacket and putting it up. "What are your procedures for first contact?"

Sinclair quirked an eyebrow, "I thought you were leaving."

"Well," he intoned, lenghtening the vowel, "I can leave, if you want. But I've changed my mind! I'd like to stay for a while, if you don't mind!"

* * *

Later, Sinclair was sitting in his office going through paperwork when his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Susan Ivanova, came in.

"So, who's that guy who's kept you busy the whole morning?" she asked, while showing him the reports he'd asked to see.

"A new human-like species, would you believe that?"

She snorted. "As if we needed another one after the Centauri."

"He seems very friendly, and even apologized for having bypassed the checkpoints."

"And I went to all that trouble to do the sweeps Garibaldi had asked me for. Did he explain how he did it?"

"Not really," Sinclair said. "In fact he didn't say much about his people or his technology. Only that he needed to talk to them and he'd get back to me with a formal proposal later. He apparently holds the rank of Ambassador already, but he was just passing through."

"Really," she replied in a flat tone. "A friendly ambassador, and stopped here by accident. At least it's original."

He grinned. "And his people aren't even from this galaxy, or so he'd like us to believe."

She laughed. "Well, then he'll fit right in with everyone else! Where is he right now?"

"He refused our offer of an escort, said he had things to do and people to see before leaving. But Garibaldi has probably ordered him tailed. Not that it'll last long, I'd wager."

* * *

Garibaldi watched his screens, following the progress of his ex-prisoner through the stalls of the Zocalo. The alien had first stopped at one of the exchange booths, where he got a sizable amount of credits in exchange for a small bag of gems and a thin bar of platinum, things that had also been missed in his pat-down. He wondered how the guy did it. With his new credit chit and some change in his pocket, the guy began systematically checking stall after stall, every now and then buying something.

Garibaldi reread the list of things bought by the 'Doctor', but there was no rhyme or reason to them. Some were replacement parts for various devices, or batteries, while others were just trinkets destined for tourists. He looked back at his screens. The alien was now meandering about, stopping again at a couple of stalls, apparently to buy something he forgot the first time around, all the while followed not too discreetly by two of Garibaldi's officers. He was ready to justify it as extra security due to a new diplomatic visitor, if asked, though Sinclair had been careful to avoid inquiring about that earlier.

He reclined in his chair. The alien's Zocalo excursion had already lasted over three hours, and Garibaldi was aware he'd be forced to suspend the surveillance soon. Security had been stretched for months. The dismantling of that racist anti-alien group had eased things somewhat, but there was still unease among the non-human residents, and a number of incidents with smugglers and lurkers hadn't helped things. He was no longer certain why the Doctor's presence bothered him. There were plenty of shady individuals to worry about. Besides, they'd seemingly reached an understanding earlier, the Doctor being apologetic enough for having offended his sense of duty, though he wasn't about to explain how he managed it.

An alert directed him to some sort of disturbance in one of the screens. A loud discussion broke out between a group of customers and some sellers, near where the Doctor was, and his officers moved in to mediate. He watched it worriedly, before a movement in another screen attracted his attention. He briefly saw the Doctor waving to the camera before ducking into an alleyway. He quickly switched to the next camera, but the alien failed to appear in it. He cursed. The Doctor had managed to evade his surveillance. He sighed, then grinned. If the other wanted to play, then they'd play.

* * *

The Doctor ducked into an unoccupied alcove, on the opposite side and in another level from where he left the officers, and frowned towards a pair of surly guys who seemed intent on challenging him for the space. They quickly moved away. He'd been expecting the opportunity for nearly an hour; some sort of disturbance was always bound to happen somewhere, especially in such a busy thoroughfare. It was just a question of time and careful monitoring. He hadn't been disappointed, and the judicious use of his perception filter would ensure he wouldn't be found before he wanted to.

He emptied his large bag on the floor, spread it and sat upon it, to avoid dirtying his clothes in the dust. He began picking through the trinkets, disassembling some and separating the parts he'd need while piling up the rest aside. Skillful application of his sonic screwdriver meant he soon had a usable detector for the specific emissions he wanted to monitor. Unfortunately he hadn't found the right parts for a telepathic interface, so a tactile one would have to suffice. He finished adjusting the small device and fixed it into a plastic egg he'd bought for the purpose. Then he pushed most of the discarded pieces into a garbage bag, after pocketing the few remaining usable parts.

The Doctor stood and waved the egg up and down and in a circle around him, noting the vibrations and trying to narrow down the likely position of the next interested party. After meeting the Vorlon, he'd been certain that if their adversaries had some sort of presence in the station, they'd be looking for him too. He'd been able to perceive the approach of the Vorlon through his telepathic presence, but the other side was trickier. And he needed some advance warning. He had an image to present.

He pushed his left hand inside his pocket, still holding the egg, and left the alcove, moving towards the nearest exit. He avoided the more populated corridors, until he was in the Brown Sector and the egg was vibrating consistently, pointing to the nearby presence of his quarry. They probably had a reasonable idea of where his TARDIS was hidden, though he doubted they were able to detect it directly. Then he turned off his perception filter and began ambling towards their approximate position.

After a few minutes, the egg trilled softly in his pocket and he smiled. They were close.

* * *

Morden shivered. He didn't like Brown Sector. It was dark and cold, and smelled musty. He felt uncomfortable, though that was an irrational reaction. He had nothing to fear, not with his associates at his side. The lowlifes that lived in these corridors wouldn't come near him, not when their instincts were screaming to them to scamper as far away as they could.

His associates were being tight-lipped. That wasn't unusual. But the setting was. Who were they interested in that'd be found in such a place? They had other middlemen to deal with such needs. He'd been chosen to be their own ambassador among others, to represent their interests with the ones that must be nudged, not pushed, in the right directions. But after wandering a couple of hours without finding whoever or whatever they were looking for, Morden was now in a barely adequate small room, waiting for a signal from his associates. He'd pushed a crate into position and was sitting on it when one of his associates skittered closer and ordered him to follow.

Nearby, a man wandered along the corridor, whistling a tune.

"Greetings, sir," Morden said. "My name is Morden. Would you mind coming with me? We need to talk."

"Do we?" The man asked, quirking an eyebrow and glancing towards the associate at Morden's right side, as if he was able to see it. Morden noticed and became nervous. "Very well, lead the way."

As soon as they were inside the room, the man asked, "What do you want?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you, what do you want?" Morden smiled, trying to hide his nervousness.

"I see," the man said, and his face closed off. "Your friends can stop the disappearing act now," he told Morden in an imperious tone. And the Shadows obeyed, uncloaking and gesturing towards the man.

* _Lord of Time, we welcome your presence,_ * one said, talking in their clicking/buzzing language and moving its limbs in fake reverence, while Morden watched, stupefied.

* _The situation is unprecedented,_ * the other Shadow added.

* _It must not be allowed to continue,_ * the first concluded.

"And what do you know about it?" The apparent 'Lord of Time' demanded, tall and frowning.

* _Your Rules were broken,_ * the first Shadow clicked.

* _Forbidden means were used,_ * the other buzzed.

"That's what I'm here to investigate," the mysterious Being declared, while Morden shuddered.

* _Your Compact was violated. This must not be allowed to rest,_ * the first Shadow asserted.

"You should let me be the judge of that," the Lord of Time replied severely.

* _We can act, if you'd rather not,_ * the second said, as an offer, or perhaps a veiled threat.

"Don't you dare. Would you like to share their fate? If the situation escalates, there will be no mercy."

The Shadows hesitated. * _What do you intend to do?_ * One of them asked.

"You must not interfere," the Lord of Time commanded. "You'll know when I act," he said, then turned and left the room, while the Shadows stilled, still visible.

* * *

Morden was deeply disturbed. He'd never seen his associates treat anyone with that kind of deference. Did they fear this Being? Who was him? Wrong question, he realized too late, as a brief white-hot flash of pain seared behind his eyes. He staggered, but the Shadows were buzzing to each other, ignoring him.

"What was he talking about?" He dared ask, after a minute.

* _He won't, must not, interfere with our plans,_ * one of them replied, clicking its forward feet nervously at the floor.

* _This one is not as we expected,_ * the other rattled, stepping around. * _He must be monitored._ *

* _It can't be. He'd know. We must not risk their anger,_ * the first buzzed shrilly.

* _The others are guilty, not us. The conclusion is near, and they are desperate! We must ensure he arrives at the correct decision._ *

* _What can we do?_ * The first despaired. * _He refused our collaboration._ *

* _We know what motivates them,_ * the second rasped. * _If he oversteps his bounds, he'll be alone and we can destroy him!_ *

* _They're not like us,_ * the first wailed. * _They're not bound by our Rules. The old Compact is clear. They can do whatever they want._ *

* _We will watch,_ * the second clicked angrily. * _We will manifest our Truth. If necessary, we will test him, and then we will act!_ *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now I know where I'm going with this. Essentially, I'm throwing a Doctor-shaped curveball at the whole situation in B5, and while things won't change much in the beginning, I'd expect the other interested parties to grow increasingly concerned as time goes on. So far, we're somewhere around the middle of the first season, and the only thing that's changed is the Doctor's presence. However, it won't last. The Doctor has already begun affecting the people he meets, and there will be consequences for everyone.
> 
> One thing, this Doctor will be close enough to DW canon, unlike I said before. So I've edited the 1st chapter notes, to confirm this is really Ten. An alternate Ten. His story won't be exactly the same (there are no Daleks, and Gallifrey is still there).
> 
> B5 has a marvelous intrincated storyline, and kudos to JMS, it's one of the best SF shows I've ever watched. And it's very hard to make a crossover, or alternate plotline, of it. I fully intend to be respectful of the original, in the sense that I'll generally follow most events in the same order. Also, I don't want the Doctor to magically solve anything (instead he'll probably complicate things even further), and I intend to be faithful at least in part the complexity of the original. But somewhere around middle-point, the divergences will become more apparent. Since we'll be focusing on the Doctor, all the other things from the show will be going on in the background, and will at most receive a mention. You may generally assume I'll warn you if there's any noticeable changes in them. Please ask, if you have any doubts.
> 
> We'll have one more chapter dealing with the Doctor meeting other people and finally getting established on B5. After that, I have a fair idea for an ending, and of the path to get there, though things may change. It'll probably be slow-going, but I'll eventually get to the end. Faster if I receive feedback that gets me more involved with telling the story *hint* *grin*.


	5. A new Ambassador

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babylon 5 welcomes a new Ambassador, The Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Writing in the current situation is far from easy. It's hard to focus, with all that's happening globally and locally. I hope you're safe, and that this may bring you a smile or two.

The navy blue spaceship appeared from nowhere, in the outskirts of an uninhabited solar system, in the same place where an instant earlier a small blue box had been silently disappearing from normal spacetime. Slightly longer than the old NASA Space Shuttle, it was much sleeker, lacking a vertical tail but with relatively short delta wings with upward slanted wingtips. With silvery details, it looked like an artistic masterpiece. Inside, within a recessed cabinet disguised behind some wall panels, the blue box rematerialized, and the Time Lord known as the Doctor emerged from within.

He closed the door but, instead of moving away, he rested his head against it, momentarily overcome by second thoughts. He'd much rather do as he almost always did, and follow his curiosity while trying to stay unnoticed. Not that it often worked that way. But he knew himself. He liked humans, and from what little he'd already seen and sensed of the situation, he wouldn't have been able to stand aside and let them be manipulated as pawns by arrogant, nearly immortal beings who thought no one else's opinions mattered.

Through the old Compact between the Time Lords and the First Ones of this galaxy, his people had promised not to interfere in the local civilizations' business, as long as the others refrained from dabbling in Time technology. If he'd been found meddling with their business on Earth and its neighbors, they might have retaliated, maybe even destroying Earth. And he wouldn't have been able to stop them.

However, the Time Observatory had now confirmed the thousand-years-long closed time loop he'd sensed in his first visit to Babylon 5. It barely merited a mention in the Temporal Incidents monitoring panel, but it was the perfect excuse for his involvement.

He'd checked. The local future was still open. The Observatory held records of various different possible timelines stretching far into the future of this galaxy, but none of them was close to fixed yet, in spite of all the efforts of the First Ones native to it. However, as he'd initially sensed, this was a crucial period in this galaxy's history. What happened in the next few years would determine their foreseeable future. He loved those moments, he loved watching history unfold, seemingly small decisions cascading into turning points in the history of civilizations. Even though, or perhaps because, he often found himself dragged into them.

That human diplomatic station would be right in the middle of the approaching maelstrom. It was the best place to watch it unfold, and the best place to interfere from. He sighed. He'd acted as Ambassador for the Time Lords many times already. Some times he'd been forced into it by the High Council, some others he'd been manipulated into doing their bidding. In a few instances, he'd even found himself agreeing with their reasoning and doing it willingly. This time, for once, they were happy enough to let him do as he wished. Probably because that'd give them one more argument for the next time they needed him.

There were few Time Lords able to empathize enough with other civilizations, especially less developed ones, to do an Ambassador's job. None more capable than he himself, at least when he thought the goal worthwhile. He knew how to do it, though he didn't enjoy doing it. It required a lot of patience, staying put and dealing with the expectations of others. He grimaced. The younger races could be bothersome, but it was acting in line with the old ones' expectations that filled him with dread.

He felt the blue door hum against his forehead, as if expressing many complex emotions, but ultimately consoling and supporting him. He caressed the wooden hull of his timeship, murmuring, "Thank you, Old Girl." Then he closed the access doors and walked into his new ship's small but luxurious command deck. Or cockpit, he thought, smiling. Humans and the names they gave to things.

He stopped at the various consoles, turning them on and checking the readings, listening to the soft hum as the ship's central core activated. Nothing as expressive as his own blue box, but at least the little spaceship was also blue and had a smidgen of personality itself. Billy had done a brilliant job with it, he thought, picturing his Asshkefissh friend. Now he had a personal transport which could be recognized as such, and even dock inside Babylon 5, like the other ambassadors. If he was going to act as the Gallifreyan Ambassador to Babylon 5, he'd better look the part.

Yes, better to look as a mysterious, but not incomprehensible, 'Gallifreyan', from somewhere beyond explored space, more technologically advanced, perhaps, but not magical. There was no need to mention mysterious and likely terrifying Lords of Time. The younger civilizations here didn't need another ancient one pushing them aside and showing off with incomprehensible tech.

The High Council didn't care. As long as he didn't mess things up, they were happy to give him their nominal support. But he was effectively on his own out here. And the First Ones of this galaxy were powerful enough, and invested enough, to be dangerous to more than he himself. He had to be careful, or many others would suffer because of him.

He grinned. The Vorlons and Shadows considered the Time Lords to be on the same level as them, with similar motivations and methods, and he wasn't about to correct them. Instead, he'd turn their expectations against them. They thought they understood Time Lords well enough, from what few interactions they'd had through the eons, and in many aspects they did. They were all 'older races', after all. But he wasn't a regular Time Lord. He'd wear the mask of a regular, arrogant and overly formal, stuffy Time Lord in his dealings with them. It wasn't as if he hadn't had enough experience faking that after his graduation, he sniffed. But at least that experience would be put to good use.

He didn't even consider the possibility of acting superior towards the 'lesser' species, as both the Vorlons and Shadows did. His behavior might raise their curiosity and suspicion, when they saw him dealing with the younger ones as if he was one of them. Something they'd hardly endure themselves. But that's their problem. These First Ones would most likely conclude his real self was just a mask, since masks are a strategy they might consider sometimes. Oh the irony!

He sat down in the pilot seat and reached over to the comms console, activating it and sending the prepackaged message he'd composed earlier. He'd emerged from the Vortex in a remote corner of the galaxy, but close enough that the message would reach a Human comms buoy in time. He'd sent his credentials from the TARDIS, timed to arrive three days earlier, so they'd know to expect him. Now this message would confirm his arrival in a few hours. Just enough time that they'd be ready for him, he grinned. He activated a lever, and the small blue vessel opened a jump point and slid into hyperspace.

* * *

Sinclair entered Babylon 5's C&C, pausing for a minute near the doors, watching as his first officer guided a cargo ship into docking with the station. She made a point of handling that job for at least two hours every day, even though they have more than enough people for it. When Ivanova finally turned and acknowledged him, he grinned and approached her station.

"Good afternoon, Susan. Anything from our newest Ambassador?"

"We've only received an automated signal, he's still scheduled to arrive today, but we have no confirmation yet about the exact time. According to the message's timestamp his ship should already be within detection range." She frowned. "It's not as if we have a formal escort to arrange and a welcoming party to plan," she snarked. "The Sanctuary's already reserved for today and tomorrow, so he'll have to wait, or accept a smaller venue."

"I don't think he'll mind either way," the Commander replied, recalling the unusual man. He might even be relieved by the delay, he thought. "And the other Ambassadors, have they said anything about these Gallifreyans?"

"Besides Kosh, and he wouldn't speak to me, no one else admits knowing a thing about them. Not even Delenn. A couple of them asked what the Vorlons have said of them, and I answered truthfully, nothing yet. They quickly lost interest afterwards. They're curious, yes, but no one has shown any particular interest, or fear, about them."

Sinclair frowned. "I hoped someone else would have heard of them and told us something. I'm not sure I like it."

"We've had completely new people arrive before."

"Once or twice, yes." But this one, he thought, the Vorlon seemed to be afraid of them.

"Maybe he's really from so far away, that no one has even heard of them. By the way, Senator Hidoshi has left a message requesting an update on any information we learn about them. He mentioned that 'friendly human-like beings from beyond known space' is the shortest description of a new species he's ever heard. Our acting commercial attaché has also called, she'd like the same, and that we ask if the Gallifreyans would be interested in trading tech. The usual."

"Very well, tell me when-" He stopped himself when the main console beeped.

"It's our new Ambassador calling, Commander," Ivanova said, after checking it. "Do you want to speak with him?"

"Certainly. You should come too," he said. She nodded, and gestured to Lt. Corwin to take her place.

The two of them entered the adjoining office, and Sinclair accepted the call. The screen filled with the grinning image of his former guest, strapped into his seat and dressed in the same old-fashioned suit as in the last time he'd seen him. What could be seen of the background indicated a small control deck, a bit larger than would be usual on an Earth Alliance shuttle.

"Hello, Commander! It's good to see a friendly face! Do I have your permission to come to Babylon 5? I haven't received your reply to my credentials yet."

"Of course Ambassador Doctor-"

"Please, Commander, between ourselves, just call me 'Doctor'."

"Perhaps, Ambassador Doctor, if you'll call me 'Sinclair'," he chuckled. "But this is an official communication, so I must refer to you as 'Ambassador'." The Doctor didn't seem happy about it, but he didn't seem surprised either, so he continued, "This is my second-in-command, Lieutenant Commander Susan Ivanova, and she's in charge of preparing the official reception-"

"Oh no no, please, not today, can't I rest for a few days?"

"We can schedule it later, Ambassador," Ivanova replied. "But we need confirmation of your expected time of arrival."

"Haven't I told you that? I'm fifteen minutes away from your jumpgate."

Sinclair frowned. The new ambassador didn't seem to bother about the more formal aspects of his job. Or at least he wanted to look that way. Not that he'd be alone in that on Babylon 5. Still, it was rude to come so close before confirming he was welcome. He hoped the Gallifreyan wouldn't be that way during diplomatic meetings. He glanced to his side, and yes, Ivanova was frowning too.

"Ambassador Doctor," the Commander straightened and addressed the alien in the screen, "your credentials have been provisionally accepted, until you have the opportunity to present them in person. I'll instruct our comms desk to send you the package with the procedures and codes for using the jumpgate and approaching the station. If we knew where to send them, or if you'd contacted us earlier yourself, you might have already received them." He examined the alien's face, and the man looked blank, except for a slight smirk that suggested his reaction was completely expected. He scowled, and the Doctor sighed.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Commander," the Gallifreyan ambassador finally said. "I'm used to being just a traveller, and I'm not very fond of all the formality involved in this job. It'll take me a few days to get used to it again. And it's a pleasure to know you, Lieutenant Commander Ivanova," he nodded towards her. "I hope we can talk later about this formal reception. Are you sure it's really necessary?"

"Thank you, Ambassador," Ivanova replied. "And yes, it is necessary. The diplomatic corps on Babylon 5 would like to meet and know you. It seems no one has ever heard about your people."

"Well," he said, extending the vowel, "we're kind of an insular people. But all right, I'd like to meet them too. After all that's the whole point of this embassy. To meet and learn about the various civilizations in your arm of this galaxy. Though I'd prefer less formal settings."

"You'll have the chance, Ambassador," Sinclair said. "After the reception, I'm sure most of us would be quite happy to arrange other opportunities for sharing knowledge about our respective civilizations."

"It's good to know, Commander, thanks. But I'd like to ask you a favor. I've heard there's an Advisory Council with representatives of the five governments that supported the creation of your diplomatic station. Which is a brilliant idea, by the way, though I think I've already told you so. And you're one of these five representatives. If there's no problem, I'd like to meet the others, even before the reception. Since I'm new in the area, I'd like to exchange a few words, present myself, so to speak. If they're willing, of course. And you're welcome too, Commander, if you want, though you already know me."

"It'll be a pleasure, and I'll see what I can do, Ambassador. And one more thing," he said, raising his hand, before the Doctor could end the call, "I believe your ship is using some sort of stealth technology, because our hyperspace buoys haven't been able to detect you yet." He'd checked in the small console beneath the comms screen, and there was only the usual traffic, already expected and tagged accordingly.

"Oh," the Gallifreyan interjected, clearly surprised. "I can't believe I've forgotten it." He looked down for a few seconds, searching, and finally switched something off. Sinclair noticed that the sensor screen now showed a new, blinking signal. "I'm sorry Commander, Lieutenant Commander. You should have my ship in your screens now."

"Yes, it's here. Thanks, Ambassador."

"That's embarrassing," the Doctor said, scratching his head so his hair stood on end. "Please don't tell anyone. They mentioned it in passing, but I completely forgot about it. This is a new ship, you know, I had to acquire it so I can park it inside your station and satisfy your Chief Garibaldi."

"It's all right, Ambassador, I'm sure Garibaldi will be pleased. Ivanova, please see that the Ambassador receives our comms package and that the jumpgate is ready for his ship."

"See you later, Lieutenant Commander!" The Doctor exclaimed happily. She nodded back, somewhat stiffly, and left. "And I believe I have to pilot this ship now, so until later, Commander!" The Doctor closed the connection.

Sinclair shook his head. This Doctor was really an odd one.

* * *

The Doctor frowned, glaring at the blank screen. He'd thought it'd be a good idea to ask Billy to build him a personal transport, just provide specifications and technical details for the technology his people didn't already have, as well as some of the Quantium-40 their dwarf galaxy had so little of. Jump ahead in time, and the ship would be ready for him. The Asshkefissh were brilliant engineers, and this ship was a marvel. But they were also perfectionists, and had their own ideas of what a ship must have.

He sighed. Billy had described it as a long-ranged scout-transport, but he'd been annoyed, though unsurprised, to find it more like a one-man pocket battleship. He'd had to explain again that all he wanted was a diplomatic courier. They'd complained but eventually removed the largest weapons and disabled the rest. And he'd just spent most of the two-hour-long trip through hyperspace checking the systems in the vessel and studying the extensive manuals Billy had left him, looking for other things that he might need to take care of. But clearly he'd missed some.

At least he'd deactivated the stealth shield while still in hyperspace and beyond visual range of other ships, otherwise the problem could've been orders of magnitude greater. As it was, there was a kind of hyperspace stealth that could be built with contemporary human-level tech. He had no doubt they'd manage something in a few years, now that they thought it could be done. Luckily it seemed the civilizations in this galaxy weren't aware yet that energy shields were even a possibility. Therefore he could leave the emitters in place and just fix the master control, so it wouldn't be reactivated automatically when approaching another ship.

He spent the next few minutes triple-checking everything, especially whatever he might have overlooked before, to ensure that there wasn't anything else active by default, or way too powerful for such a small ship, that could bring unwanted attention afterwards. Then he commanded the onboard AI to keep all the controls for these functionalities locked, unless he himself countermanded it. Still, he'd probably have to keep his ship off-limits to everyone else. Billy had included a fairly complete anti-intrusion system, and that was something the Doctor would have to leave active by default, now.

The jumpgate beacon was already close when he finally looked up. There wasn't much time left to browse through the contents of the package detailing the jumpgate procedure, but it was basic enough that a few pressed buttons to send the codes were enough to activate it, and he was back in normal space, in a long decelerating trajectory towards the huge space station.

* * *

Garibaldi came into C&C, and saw Ivanova in her habitual post.

"I heard our new Ambassador is almost here," he said to her. "Aren't you going to join the Commander and meet him?"

"And you? You should be going too."

"Well, I'm ready!" He gestured to his full dress uniform. "I thought to come here and see that you wouldn't miss it."

"Thanks, Garibaldi, but I'm a bit busy. The Commander has asked me to ensure the Doctor won't crash his ship into the station or something."

"Is he that bad a pilot? Doesn't his ship have some sort of automated approach system?"

"That's exactly the problem, whatever system it has, it's not set to dock with a rotating station, and he only thought of checking that after coming through the jumpgate. So he's piloting it on manual."

"Great. What sort of people don't have rotating stations? Even the Minbari have some, and they have gravitic tech."

"You may ask him that later, right now I'm a bit busy. You can stay and watch for a bit if you want. He's still a few minutes away from docking."

"Well, thanks!" He peeked over her shoulder. "For a manual approach, it's quite smooth. At least it seems he can pilot it." She didn't reply, busy with her console, so he moved to a side one and called in the sensor data.

"Oh, beautiful thing!" Garibaldi exclaimed.

"It is, isn't it?" Lt. Corwin commented, passing behind him. "We've all stood admiring it for a moment, once it came from the jumpgate."

"Familiar too, nothing odd like those Minbari lobed shuttles, or weird like that Vorlon ship parked on Bay 13." He checked its dimensions. "Somewhat larger, but otherwise reminiscent of a Centauri personal transport. Smaller wings, but maybe it's enough for atmospheric reentry."

"The size is a problem," Ivanova commented, pausing her work for a moment. "It's a bit too long for the shuttle lift. We'll have to park it on one of the other bays."

"I hope he has the funds to pay the docking fees," he said, but she was back to coordinating her crew. "Hm, particle thrust engines, nothing unusual, except they seem too small for its size?"

"They may be small, but they're powerful enough," Corwin replied, since Ivanova was busy. "It was decelerating at over one G, just before you came in."

"Wow!" Garibaldi whistled. At that moment the engines reduced thrust and the blue ship graciously turned in place, aligning itself with the standard approach vector. A moment later it began rotating, in sync with the station.

"You'd better go, Garibaldi," Ivanova said, "if you want to be there before he disembarks."

"And you?"

"I'll meet you there later. Best make sure this ship ends where we want it, and without incident."

* * *

Sinclair was talking to the technician next to the gate near where the new Ambassador's ship was parking, when a loud voice called behind him.

"Commander Sinclair!"

"Ambassador Mollari, what are you doing here?" At his side, Garibaldi was shaking his head, exasperated.

"And Mister Garibaldi! I heard we're receiving a new Ambassador today, yeah?"

"Yes, Londo," Garibaldi said, "but you don't normally come to greet them as they arrive. There'll be an official reception later for that."

"Ah, but this one, your Lieutenant Commander Ivanova has said he looks just like us!" Mollari laughed. "Perhaps they're our lost tribe that we've mistaken you for!"

Sinclair sighed. He didn't believe that Mollari thought that, not for a moment. "You're welcome to wait with us, if you want. And I'm sorry but you should know that Doctor Franklin has already examined the Ambassador and confirmed that he's neither Human nor Centauri. Are you sure you've never heard of them?"

"That's a pity. No, the Centauri Republic has never heard of these 'Gallifreyans' before. Maybe they went by another name? Anyway, I'm very happy to meet him. Maybe I could give him the unofficial tour of Babylon 5, heh?" He opened his arms and spun around, as if marveled by what he saw. "Make sure he knows not to miss all the fun he may have in your station!"

"He did ask to meet with the Ambassadors from the Council," he said, and quickly added, before the Centauri could reply, "but Londo, please, at least wait until after the reception before you try to lure him down to the casino."

"Ah, but where's the fun in waiting?" Mollari exclaimed, pointing his finger at Sinclair. Luckily for him, at this moment the officer at the gate signaled the approach of the new Ambassador, and they turned to meet him.

"Is that him?" Mollari asked, watching the man dressed in an old-style pinstriped suit with a tan overcoat, that was crossing the scanner arch, dragging a small bag. At Sinclair's nod, he continued, "But aren't these Human clothes? Ah, I can see he'll need some tips! He's lucky I'm here!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambassador Mollari insisted to be there, what could I do? And yes, the Doctor really had forgotten to call earlier to confirm he was welcome. Sinclair's interpretation was his own. As a rule, I try to let characters interpret the events according to their own experiences and points of view. That means they often won't agree with each other or with myself as the author. Just because one of them thought or said something, that won't mean it's the truth. Also note that, when talking to one another, they may say, or imply, something different from what they believe to be true, for various reasons.
> 
> For this chapter, and until the Doctor finally finds his next companion, we'll have some introspection from the Doctor, so you can learn a few things it'd be harder to tell otherwise. If you have questions, please ask, and I'll try to answer them through the story.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! Virtual cookies to all of you who read and enjoy my stories, and know that your support is much appreciated. You gave me the push to overcome the current situation and finish this chapter!


	6. The Players, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor settles in on Babylon 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote one of the paragraphs of the first section of chapter 5, to make it less confusing.

Garibaldi watched as the Doctor arranged a handful of trinkets on the shelves. His quarters weren't large, compared to Ambassadorial standards, but the Doctor had said they were comfortable enough. They came with a standard bathroom and a relatively small bedroom, but had only a few basic kitchen appliances and no decorations. It's usually the Ambassadorial staff's role to decorate the rooms and add the necessary furniture according to their needs. The Doctor hadn't asked for a bed, and that was strange, but when Garibaldi asked about it, the Doctor swiftly changed subjects.

"You didn't bring much, in terms of mementos from your homeworld."

The Doctor frowned. "I don't need much. And the diplomatic courier couldn't carry much."

He'd offered to show Garibaldi around his ship, but the chief of security declined, for the moment. The scan of the ship hadn't shown any weapons, though there had been some brief, odd readings. Nothing worth raising the issue, though. Not yet. The Commander was certain the Doctor was from a more technologically advanced civilization, and Garibaldi had to agree. So he wanted to keep the option open for later, when he had a better idea of what he was looking for.

The Doctor continued, "What I've brought is enough for the moment. I'll get some more things from the ship later."

"And a bed?"

The Gallifreyan laughed. "Maybe I don't need as much sleep as humans."

Garibaldi smirked. The non-human was being friendly, but also evasive. It was clear he was keeping secrets, but then everyone did. And Garibaldi suspected part of it was just some friendly teasing. He was there as chief of security, though it normally wasn't his job to escort new Ambassadors to their rooms and help them move in. The Doctor seemed to be aware of that, but wasn't bothered, on the contrary. Garibaldi found that he didn't mind the other's attitude.

The last things remaining in the bag were some changes of clothing, which seemed almost identical to what the Doctor was already using, well, the only clothes Garibaldi ever saw him using. He'd think it was some sort of uniform, except that they looked too similar to an anachronistic human suit. The Doctor picked them up and went to put them in the closet.

"Where are your formal clothes?" He had to ask.

"Formal clothes? What's wrong with these? I like wearing them! They're comfortable."

"For the reception. Where you're going to present yourself, and your planet, your culture, to the other ambassadors. You look just human in these."

The Doctor sighed. "I have to, haven't I? It's been too long since the last time I was an ambassador. I've forgotten."

"You don't seem old enough to have forgotten that. What are you, thirty-five?"

"Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. Garibaldi. I'm older than I look."

"How much older?" The Doctor just grinned and didn't answer.

Garibaldi walked around the main room of the Doctor's quarters, poking curiously at what little the new ambassador had brought in terms of decoration. It all seemed somewhat impersonal, like the guy had just picked a bunch of trinkets without much care about what he was getting. A handful seemed to follow an abstract motif, decorated with lines and circles, but for the rest, there was no rhyme or reason to them. Maybe they were as he said, things he'd collected through his travels. Though there was that small circular rug, a bit plastic-looking, but with a fancy spiral design on it.

"What about this rug? What's this symbol?"

The Doctor glanced at it, before going back to inspecting the cabinets. "It's one of our Seals of government."

"But in a rug? You step on it?"

Laughing, the Doctor turned to him, "Maybe it's a transmat pad. You know, for an emergency!" He winked, and Garibaldi laughed with him.

The doorbell rang. "It seems Ambassador Mollari is here, for your welcoming tour. You know the Commander would like to give you one too, later."

"Yes, but now I can do two things at once, get to know one of my fellow ambassadors while he shows me around! Sinclair said he doesn't mind."

"Beware Mollari, though. He can be sneaky."

"We're all more than we look, my dear Garibaldi." The Doctor stopped before reaching the door and turned to the security chief, at his side, fixing him with a serious look. "And if you ever need something, know that maybe I can help you."

Garibaldi didn't know what to make of that, much less how to respond. "Yeah, thanks," he said. The Doctor nodded, and they left.

* * *

Garibaldi found Ivanova at her desk, shuffling papers. When she saw him, she leaned back in the chair and stretched her arms and back.

"Where's our new ambassador, Garibaldi? I need him for the last details for his reception tomorrow."

Garibaldi ignored the other chair and leaned on the desk instead. "He's getting an exclusive tour, courtesy of our very own Centauri Ambassador. He asked me to tell you he'd come by later."

"I hope you've given him some tips. I don't want to wake up tomorrow in the middle of an interstellar war between the great Centauri Republic and these mysterious Gallifreyans over some misunderstanding."

"Nah, Mollari is smarter than that. And our new ambassador, he's definitely smarter than him. We'd be more likely to find our dear Londo dead in the morning, with no clue as to the perpetrator."

"Do you think so? He seemed a bit, uh, scatter-brained earlier."

"Try sitting with him in an interrogation room for hours. The man has hidden depths. Very deep, well hidden ones."

"You don't trust him, then."

"You know me, Lieutenant Commander. I trust no one. Well, except for the Commander. And you, of course," he said, grinning.

She laughed for a moment. "I'm serious, why do you think he's here?"

"You haven't bought his story of cultural exchange, either."

"After what you and the Commander told me, about him and Kosh? No, I don't."

"I'm not sure what he's up to." He fiddled with a pen on her desk for a bit, then amended, "But I'm cautiously optimistic."

"Optimistic, you?" She frowned at him in fake disbelief.

"Hey, I'm not Russian! I can be optimistic sometimes." He straightened up and started to turn away, only to turn back a moment later. "Anyway, I think we've reached an understanding. I'm keeping an eye on him, and he seems fine with it. I don't think he's flat out lying. Well, he may simply refuse to give a straight answer to some questions, but then, here, who doesn't?"

* * *

The Doctor found that the Centauri Ambassador was very entertaining company. Londo was a rich source of extravagant snippets of information about Babylon 5, and he seemed to know almost every corner of the station, or at least the public areas, as well as a lot of interesting characters. It was fun, letting himself be dragged around and sharing jokes. They soon hit a subject that was an inexhaustible source of amusement for both of them: talking about the Humans, how wonderful and mystifying they are. But he couldn't relax fully, because, all that time, the other was subtly trying to probe his opinion on a vast range of subjects in which he seemed interested. Which was all right, because the Doctor was doing the same. It was certainly a much better way to do it than sitting in an office or the like.

When they passed through the casino, however, he had to play down his mathematical abilities, because Londo seemed very keen on a few rounds of gambling.

"No, but you have to try it! The Humans have so many interesting games! It's also a very good way to observe and learn about them."

"All right, Londo, if you insist-"

"Hah, great, I'll just-"

"-but not today! I still have to meet Lt Cmd Ivanova regarding the reception tomorrow, and I don't want to have her angry at me. Or, rather, us both!"

"Oh, all right! Yes, she can be a right terror when she is not happy with us."

Finally they were back at Londo's quarters, and the Centauri stood to prepare their drinks.

"You don't have a problem with alcohol, do you?"

The Doctor laughed. "No, I really don't."

"Good, very good! A word of advice, don't offer alcohol to a Minbari."

"Why not? Is it dangerous to them?"

"No, it's dangerous to your health!" While the Doctor made a mental note to look it up later, Londo sat in the chair facing the Doctor's and offered him the drink. "Cheers! As the Humans say!"

"Cheers!" He took a sip, noting down all the exotic components of the drink. "You seem to want to ask me something, don't you?"

"Ah, it's nothing important," the Centauri tried to dismiss it. He seemed nervous, and the Doctor was curious.

"I'm here. You can always ask, even if it's personal. I might not be able to answer, but that's another thing."

"Have you ever been to Centauri Prime?" The question came rushed, and Londo tried to explain, "Because you said you've travelled around this sector, and you've visited Earth, probably more than once, right?" The Doctor hummed his agreement, and the Centauri continued, "Your clothes, they're clearly Human in origin, and-"

"Not you too!" The Doctor complained.

But Londo wasn't about to be diverted now. "They're not even from this time period, so you must have visited Earth some time ago. I've been there for a while, enough to learn a bit about their history. There's no record of visitors from other planets before we Centauri found them. But you could easily walk among them and no one would be the wiser that you weren't Human." The same would happen in Centauri Prime, Londo didn't have to add.

The Doctor took the time to sip his drink. "Yeah, I've been to Centauri Prime. It's been a while, though. Before your time. Mollari, that's your House, isn't it? Centauri have a thing about Houses."

"Our House is our family," Londo said.

"I've met another Mollari, there. Gemaldo. Maybe your grandfather?"

"My grand-uncle. That's why I wanted to go see the Humans, once we found them. I thought, maybe one of them... I was his favourite. Before he died, he told me a story." Londo was contemplative. "He was just a child, but a Doctor came to his house. He looked like any Centauri, though his hair was unkempt." The Doctor made a face but didn't interrupt. "But this Doctor wasn't Centauri. His father was the Head of House then. There was some kind of problem. My grand-uncle didn't know what was happening, but the Doctor asked him things, then reassured him and went to help his father. He never learned exactly what had happened, except that many people died, but the day was saved."

"That was me, yeah."

Londo seemed relieved. "He made me promise, before he died. I promised to look for you. To thank you for him."

"You're welcome."

"Can you tell me what's happened?"

"It's a long story. Maybe another day," he replied, somber.

"Can it happen again?"

"No, I don't think so. Those guys won't ever try that again, I'm sure."

"Thank you."

"As I said, you're welcome."

"That's what you do? Go around helping people?" He laughed, disbelieving, as if it was a joke.

The Doctor smiled. "Not really. I'm just a traveller. Well, a bit more than a traveller. I've met many of the people that's out there to meet. Though I prefer to pass unnoticed. Sometimes, like now, I have to play the ambassador. Official duties," he said with a grimace. "But mostly, I like to see people, wander about, and observe things."

"It's not a bad life, I think," Mollari said.

The atmosphere that followed was comfortable. Of course, it didn't last.

"Have you seen G'Kar already? No? I'd say don't bother!"

"Why not?" The Doctor asked. "They're your neighbors, I'd think you should cultivate peaceful relations with them."

"Peaceful relations? Bah! Uncivilized, the lot of them are! That's impossible!"

"They'll probably have a few choice remarks to say about the Centauri as well."

The Doctor sighed, leaving the subject of the Narns for another time. He didn't really expect that the hostility between the Narn and the Centauri would be easy to overcome, but it seemed Londo wasn't even trying. With G'Kar unavailable for the day, he'd have to try again after the reception. At least there he'd have a chance to observe both of them together, in a neutral setting.

Soon after, Londo was back, trying to give some Ambassadorial advice.

"I don't understand why you came alone. You should send for someone else to assist you. You won't be able to handle ambassadorial duties if you're busy with the details."

"No, that's not how we do things."

"But you'll need someone. Even if it's just to keep your schedule. There are plenty of other ambassadors here, and they'll all want to talk with you." The Doctor was shaking his head, so Londo made a suggestion, "Hire a Human, then. I had a Human assistant once, they can do the job well."

"Humans are complicated," he grumbled. He really didn't like the idea of putting another Human companion at risk. But if they were just to work as an assistant... "All right, I'll look into it. But don't go spreading the word around! I have my own method for finding assistants."

"Of course, of course! Who do you think I am?"

'A very shrewd politician,' he thought, but didn't say. He only narrowed his eyes at Londo's innocent-looking face. But Londo wasn't finished with his tips yet.

"Tell me, is it just you, or do all your people dress just like Humans?"

"Not again... Yes, I know it, Garibaldi already gave me the spiel."

"Look at my glorious clothes! I'm telling everyone how glorious the Centauri Republic truly is!"

The Doctor scrunched his nose. "It doesn't say 'glorious' to me."

"Pompous, rather? Yeah, I agree. But this _is_ part and parcel of being Ambassador. Otherwise people will look at you and dismiss you as a member of a rogue Human colony."

"Ugh! That's not better."

"You're an ambassador. You should know about this."

"Yeah yeah, it's been too long, I've forgotten, and you already know I'm older than I look. I'll have to go back to my ship and get some more clothes... Then you'll see who's more 'glorious'."

"Don't tell me you also have an Empire?"

"We had, Londo. A very long time ago. But we've learned that an Empire is more trouble than it's worth. An illusion of safety, power and strength. But there's always a day when illusions are shattered. We don't need it, and we're much better off without it now."

"How odd. Don't you have enemies? People who envy you? Who desire your homeworld?"

"Plenty," he said somberly. "But most know better than to try."

"Ah! You're powerful, then." Londo pointed at him, his eyes glinting.

"Nah. We don't like to meddle in the affairs of others. And the others repay us the favor."

"But you're here, now, Doctor."

"Yes, yes I am."

"Are you going to meddle?"

"It's not meddling when we're trying to build relations, is it?"

"You said your planet is too far away for regular trade or travel. What kind of relations are you here for, hm?"

"Curiosity. Exchange of experiences. Maybe we can learn something from you. And maybe we can teach you something." Londo was looking at him doubtfully. "But that's enough about me! What about you? The great Centauri Republic, who's governed by an Emperor, so should be called an Empire, perhaps?"

"One day, sure. We're no longer an empire." Londo grimaced at his empty glass and took the bottle to refill it. "There was the day when we controlled most of the region, and the others respected us. Now, we're just a shadow of what we once were."

"And you're not happy with it."

"We're the laughing stock of the galaxy. Come visit the great Centauri Republic. Open 9 to 5. Bah."

"There are other powers than military might and political strength," the Doctor tried. "There's much your people could achieve, and become glorious again, now for a much better reason."

"Nah, my people are fixated on the past. We live off memories. We delude ourselves. What would I do to reconquer the old glory."

"Be careful what you wish for, Londo. There lies the path to madness and loss of yourself."

"And what else could I do? We're a traditional people! See our clothes, our legends, our ceremonies. That's what we are!"

"No you're wrong, Londo. Maybe one day you'll understand, and maybe one day I can help you, as I once helped your grand-uncle."

* * *

After he left Londo, the Doctor went back to his quarters, where he spent some time looking at himself in the mirror. The Centauri was right. The design of his suit was from 21st century Earth. For the Humans on the station, they marked him as eccentric and out-of-time, which was, after all, part of the original intent. But for the others, they screamed 'Strange Human'. Few of them had the knowledge to link his clothes to Earth's past. But they were distinctive enough that the weak perception filter he normally used wasn't enough to prevent many of the station's inhabitants, with the psychic abilities common in this galaxy, from noticing him. He was forced to admit his choice of clothing was inadequate to the situation.

He could try a stronger perception filter, but that had its own risks. Or he could make the best of the situation and accept some fashion changes. He spent some time browsing current Human male fashion through Babylon 5's catalogs. Yes, there was a way to adapt his clothing to a contemporary style, while still retaining that distinctive sense that was his own. The shoes were harder, but there were still trainer equivalents in this era, and those wouldn't look as out of place as his current ones.

The TARDIS would have an adequate suit and shoes for him. His overcoat, strangely enough, was perfectly acceptable to Human contemporary tastes, and that helped make him less uncomfortable about the change. But he'd have to bring Gallifreyan clothes as well. He could dress himself as Human with the new suit, when he wanted to avoid attention, but he'd have plenty of official business. He couldn't carry through them without some Gallifreyan formal wear. He hated the idea, but the First Ones here would know enough to be able to recognise if he wasn't using appropriate clothing, and that would raise questions he'd rather avoid.

He went to the TARDIS, still snugly parked inside the courier ship. In the wardrobe, he quickly found the old grey robes he'd used in his first, and last, official mission before he left Gallifrey and became a renegade, all the way back in his first incarnation. That mission had been important in making him what he was now, so, for him, using them here would carry some secret amusement and satisfaction. It would also help him remember who he was, even though they'd belonged to an older, stricter version of himself. Yes, they could serve as everyday Gallifreyan formal clothing. Now, for the ceremonial wear, he had decided on the robes he'd used at his last official function on Gallifrey. They were blatant enough to fit the purpose, even though he'd rather turn his nose at them. But the TARDIS was being difficult, and no matter how much he asked her, he couldn't find them. He sighed, resigning himself to look again the next morning.

Now, if only the Minbari Ambassador would reply to his message. Commander Sinclair would be unavailable until after the reception, and that was all right. He already had the measure of the man. G'Kar's assistant had sent a brief reply claiming the Narn Ambassador was busy today. And Kosh, well, he didn't need his reply, he'd go visit him anyway. But he wanted to see for himself how far the Vorlons had gone in their manipulation of the Minbari, and how much they knew of the Vorlon plans. The Vorlons had the disgusting habit of passing themselves as gods to the younger species, and it seemed Minbari religion was at least in part based in Vorlon manipulation. He had no doubt Kosh would have advised Delenn on how to speak to him, by now.

* * *

Delenn paced in her quarters, worried. Since the moment she'd received Sinclair's word that the new Gallifreyan Ambassador had arrived and wanted to speak with her, she'd been trying to contact Kosh, but the Vorlon wasn't replying to her requests. She knew something had happened between him and the new ambassador, but Kosh had left Babylon 5 soon after, and had returned only the previous day. Now he was shut away in his rooms, and refused to see everyone. Even her. She could only assume he was busy with something that was unrelated to the newcomer. So she'd sent Lennier to find the Gallifreyan Ambassador and give him her reply in person.

Lennier finally found him with Ivanova, and returned with the new Ambassador in tow. As they came into her quarters, she could see that he was not dressing in the Human clothes she'd heard of. Instead, he wore a grey open cloak, in a soft fabric that seemed to shimmer under the light. The cloak had a trim inscribed with beautiful circles and spirals that could well be a form of language. Underneath, he had a patterned dark grey robe that reached down to his thighs, over wide dark grey trousers and a high-collared maroon shirt. The robes were closer to the usual Minbari religious caste style than to most Human clothes she'd seen, so she assumed they were his Gallifreyan clothes. They seemed strangely appropriate.

He thanked Lennier and turned to her expectantly. His face was blank and stern.

"Thank you for coming," she started. "I am Delenn, Ambassador for Minbar. It's so good to welcome a new civilization's representative to Babylon 5."

He nodded, acknowledging her welcome. "And I am The Doctor, Ambassador for Gallifrey, Special Envoy from the High Council." Very formal, the way he said it, as if he expected she'd recognize it. But she didn't. Maybe he assumed Kosh had said something to her. Did he know about the special relationship between the Minbari and the Vorlons?

"Forgive me, but isn't 'Doctor' a human rank?" She tried to break the tension, but it didn't work.

The Doctor smiled, a tight smile. "Perhaps they learned the term from us."

She was uncomfortable. He wasn't acting as friendly as her reports had said. "Forgive me if I've offended you. Your message said there was something you wanted to speak with me about?"

He softened his stance somewhat. "Valen," he said.

"What about him?" She was nervous, now.

"A Minbari not born of Minbari. The founder of your current society. He reformed the ancient Minbari, led you through the Shadow War, united your various clans. Founded the Grey Council."

"Yes. That's recorded in our history." But very few non-Minbari were allowed to learn even that much about him.

"Why did you fight the Humans?" He pressed, and she frowned at the new question. What did he mean? His stance didn't mirror the subject change, as if the question was just a follow-up.

"They killed our leader, Dukhat. It was a misunderstanding. But we were angry." Perhaps his kind was connected somehow to the Humans he resembled. That could explain his apparent hostility. "It wasn't our brightest moment. We regret that."

"Not all of you." His eyes were focused on her, as if he was seeing into her soul. She shivered. This was not a friendly talk, this was an interrogation. But she was Grey Council. She wasn't easily intimidated.

"They'll do as they're ordered to," she replied bluntly.

"You almost committed genocide." He was dispassionate now, and she was even more wary. Was this some sort of test?

"Who are you?"

"Ah." He smirked, as if she'd finally said something he was expecting. "Who are _you_? What do you want? Those are the questions, aren't they?"

Delenn focused on him but, unlike the Human that had come to her quarters many weeks earlier, this Gallifreyan wasn't carrying the Shadows' taint. "You come asking questions, you could answer some of mine. Why are you here?"

The Doctor shrugged, and the pressure she was feeling receded slightly. "I'm not your enemy. You have nothing to fear, unless you've done something wrong. Have you?" The Gallifreyan Ambassador had a presence, not unlike a Vorlon themself. She felt measured, and found wanting.

"And who are you to ask this? To pretend to judge others?"

"Don't you know?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Haven't you talked to your master?"

"Master?" The Human word was strange, and it took her a moment to place it. The Gallifreyan didn't intend 'master' to mean the teacher-disciple relationship, so there was only one answer possible. "The Minbari have no masters."

"You defer to the Vorlon." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

"I don't know you," she said through gritted teeth. "I have no idea what you want. You don't know me, and you have no right to say that. If that's all you wanted to say, you may as well leave."

The other, surprisingly, backed down. The ominous sensation that she'd been feeling disappeared, leaving her dizzy. With difficulty, she pushed the dizziness down. Her visitor was dangerous, and she dared not show weakness.

"Very well, I'll leave," he said, nodding to her. "Call me when you're ready to tell me what I need to know."

"And what do you need to know?"

"Everything." He smiled, then bowed respectfully, before retreating. It was only after the door closed that she allowed herself to breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! It took me a while before I was happy with this last dialogue. Tell me what you think!  
> Next chapter shouldn't take as long. I hope.
> 
> Thank you so much Almadynis Rayne and JeannieBird for helping me as betas!
> 
> Thank you for your comments, Benjamin_Hill and Jeanniebird! And thank you all for your kudos!


	7. The Players, Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delenn is worried, Kosh is weird, and the Doctor, well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a long while, but here it is. A gift for you, in the hope it might help in the difficult times we're all living in.

Delenn put the breather mask on and knocked on Kosh's door. It didn't open, but she was determined. She knocked again, and after a few more seconds without a reply, she knocked a third time. She wouldn't leave without talking to him. The Vorlon didn't keep the same hours as most other people on Babylon 5, so she knew he wasn't asleep. 

She was about to knock a fourth time when the door finally opened. He was in his encounter suit, but was facing away from the door. There was a palpable tension in the air. She entered and saluted him, but he still ignored her.

"I must speak with you," she said. "The new ambassador has been to my quarters this afternoon, and I don't understand."

After a moment, he finally turned to her, head tilted up, with his eyehole nearly closed. She waited, but he said nothing. He wasn't even facing her directly, turned slightly towards the door instead.

"I don't understand," she repeated. "I tried to talk to you earlier, but you weren't available. Who is he? He knows more than he should. He asked about us. I didn't say anything, but I believe he got something anyway."

His eye-hole opened and contracted, and that was all of his reaction. Perhaps he was angry, she thought.

"I'm sorry," she said, afraid she'd done something she shouldn't. He still didn't say anything, but his eye-hole expanded somewhat. No, he didn't seem angry. Distracted, maybe.

After a few moments of silence, he nodded, turned fully towards her, and finally said, "He's the approaching storm. You should not try to stop him."

"T-the storm? Is he aligned with the enemy?"

"No!" Kosh boomed, then stepped back slightly, as if regretting his explosion. "He's the Storm," he stressed. "He comes. If you resist, he'll break you. You must bend, not break. He's the third edge."

She didn't understand. She frowned, and observed the Vorlon before her, trying to get some hint of the meaning of his words. He was acting different from what she was used to. Weird. Instead of the pervasive calm she'd always felt in his presence, now there was a brittleness to his attitude. She began to doubt. Maybe he didn't know as much as he'd like her to believe.

"He asked about the war with the Humans. About Valen. And about you. About us." She waited for a moment, but there was no reaction. "He knows. What does he know? What should I tell?" She asked, but Kosh contracted his eyehole and tilted his head away again.

Frustrated with his silence, Delenn turned to pace in the small room, but after a single step, she caught herself. She's been in the company of Humans for too long, she mused, long enough to acquire some of their quirks. She breathed deeply to center herself, and turned again towards the Vorlon, who was plainly ignoring her. His answers were cryptic as always, and she knew it was pointless to insist with those questions. But she wasn't finished yet.

"Is he dangerous?" Wrong question. Of course the Gallifreyan was dangerous. "Why is he here?" Kosh's eyehole seemed to contract slightly, but if she hadn't been looking for it she'd have missed it. "What does he want?" It was dangerous to provoke the Vorlon, but when he didn't visibly react, her worry grew inside her chest.

She stood there for a few minutes, barely moving beyond her slow breaths, waiting to see if Kosh would say something else. Sometimes all she needed was a bit of patience. He hadn't dismissed her yet, so there was still hope. But her chest felt constricted, in spite of her breathing exercises. The breather mask didn't help. 

She was aware her growing doubts had been seeded by the Gallifreyan ambassador's words, but she couldn't help it. She didn't know how, but the instinctive reverence she always felt in the presence of any Vorlon, and especially Kosh, had now practically disappeared. Maybe it was also because Kosh was unusually absorbed with his own thoughts. His presence was always felt more intensely when he was focusing on her. Now, she could even wonder what was so special about him and the Vorlons in general.

She hadn't forgotten about the Enemy, and their threat to all that's good and sane. But her lack of knowledge about the Grand Plan had never bothered her as much as it did now, looking at the one who was supposed to have all the answers. Maybe he was as afraid as she herself was. Maybe he was even more afraid.

Finally, Kosh turned towards her and approached, looking like he always did, and a shiver rippled down her spine. She was aware her thoughts bordered on treasonous, and that the Vorlons were at least a little telepathic. She'd never been truly afraid of him, but she couldn't help it now. However, before she could say anything, his eyehole expanded, and a calming, comforting feeling, a fond acceptance, filled her being. It felt like a hug, and she relaxed in its embrace.

"Delenn," Kosh's voice whispered, followed by a long series of musical notes that were left untranslated. She couldn't remember the last time he'd called her by her name, but that didn't bother her right now. He continued looking at her for a moment, then asked, "What did The Doctor ask you to do?"

Surprised, she stared at him, but it was clear what Kosh was asking. "He wants me to call him when I'm ready. He wants me to tell him everything."

Kosh nodded. "Do it," he said. "Do not oppose him. Do not be afraid."

She frowned, suspicious. It made no sense. If she, they, could trust the Gallifreyan, the Vorlon would have said that, but that wasn't what he was saying.

"What should I tell him?" She asked.

"Everything," Kosh rumbled.

"Everything? But, but then he could tell the Humans..."

"Everything," he boomed, and his voice reverberated. "He has the right to know," he continued, softly now. "Do not hide anything. Answer all his questions."

"A- All right," she said, but she was far from reassured. "But the moment of change is approaching. When should I seek him?"

"When it is time," Kosh said, then whispered, "When you are ready." His eyehole contracted, then, and he turned towards the door. "Go. Go now. Prepare yourself."

She bowed her head and retreated.

* * *

The child left his quarters, and Kosh stayed there, looking at the door, long after she'd left. He'd been too worried earlier to receive her, too uncertain. But she'd insisted, and he relented. He'd always had a soft heart for his charges.

It was a new feeling, uncertainty. He'd been hiding. The long discussions with the others had left him disturbed. They trusted him to stay in the path, and resist the Time Lord. He was good at guiding the younger races. But he was no longer certain of the path.

Delenn had faced the Time Lord alone, even though she didn't know what he was. Her attitude both inspired and ashamed him. He would have been afraid for her, if he hadn't been so unsettled himself.

The child was growing more independent, more autonomous. It was partly the Time Lord's doing, it was clear, but he couldn't bring himself to stifle her growth. She'd leave him, he knew, and it wouldn't be long now. But he wasn't sad, or angry. He was happy, for her. He hoped she'd find and follow her own path. The others wouldn't understand, but she was his child. Maybe letting her go would save her from the Time Lord's interest. That was what mattered in the end. She shouldn't be destroyed with everyone else.

His people had been inflexible, and his orders were clear. He'd argued with them, but now he was bound by their collective decision. It unsettled him deeply, though. He disagreed with their attitude and their reasoning. What could he do? What he _had_ to do was to avoid having her, and others, pay the price for his cowardice. Had he called the Doctor as soon as he'd arrived, she might not have attracted his attention. But he himself hadn't felt ready to face the Time Lords' envoy.

He called the Doctor once Delenn left. The message had been received. There was no need for a reply. He only had to wait, now.

* * *

After his talk with Delenn, the Doctor had taken some time to review what he'd learned today. It was late, and he doubted the last ambassador he still had to meet, G'Kar, would reply to his invitation before the next morning. He'd already decided to come to Kosh in the dead of night when his message arrived. It was a long walk to Kosh's quarters, and the corridors were empty.

He'd been surprised that not only Sinclair, but also his two main subordinates, both Garibaldi and Ivanova, were important to the future. The Observatory had given him the lay of the likeliest timelines, but only in person he could sense the connection of each individual to the possibilities. He was aware that Sinclair was crucial, he was connected to the time loop, though the details were still fuzzy. That was something he didn't want to mess with. Things were already difficult and delicate enough without having a paradox thrown in the midst.

He was curious about the Minbari. He'd pegged them as Vorlon puppets, but his meeting with Delenn had shown him that they were more than that. She was a focal point, the same as Sinclair, an individual whose decisions would shape the future. From the way she'd stood before him, she had a strength he could admire. It wasn't mere subservience to the Vorlons, she truly believed in the cause of her side of the story. So the Doctor decided that a less confrontational attitude would be warranted in the future.

And there were the Centauri. Ambassador Mollari had proved himself to be a surprisingly likable individual. There were dark shadows in his past and future, yes, as well as in his Republic. They'd been conquerors, and oppressed many, including the Narn. There was little in the recorded timelines about the Narn, though there were indications that there could be more to them than could be seen at first glance. He'd have to keep an eye on both.

He recalled Mollari's assertion that he should find an assistant. Nah, he thought. Unnecessary. Besides, no Time Lord or Gallifreyan would come to help him. He could get a Human to assist him, but that would put them in the midst of a cruel and deadly game. He didn't want to risk anyone's life again.

Now, before he could plan his next steps, he needed to know how the Vorlons decided to see his interference. Would they actively oppose him? He hoped not, at least not for a while. Kosh had seemed reasonable enough, and he was one of the leaders of his own kind, but the Doctor was under no illusion that the other leaders would be happy to have an outsider sniffing around their business. At least, the Vorlons tended to be extremely conservative and cautious. Maybe that would be enough to convince them to wait and see what he'd find in his 'investigation', before considering any rash actions.

* * *

It was late, and most of the Humans were asleep. The Time Lord was coming. Kosh waited, impatiently. Restlessly. Terrified.

A flash. A vision. He'd been plagued by them, for years now. But this one was different. A huge dark grey cloud. A cold, dense nebula, deep in space, impenetrable to sensors. Lightning from nascent stars flashed within.

He blinked, back in his quarters. An ominous vision. What is to come, he wondered.

He waited. Then another vision. A Human approached. No. The Time Lord. He shone with terrible light. Kosh asked, ['Who are you?']. And the Time Lord asked him back, ['Who are _you_?'] He shuddered, as the vision dissipated. Had he lost his way?

He'd argued with the others, but they wouldn't move. He knew a dark future was ahead. He'd known it for centuries now. Millennia. But at this moment, it was much worse. He was the oldest. The others looked up to him, but they'd grown tired of his fears.

The Time Lords reigned over Time. It was their domain. His people shouldn't have meddled with it. But Kosh had grown afraid. They'd been about to lose, he knew it. So he'd meddled. He'd convinced the others to meddle. They'd been happy to, they'd also been aware of the danger. 

The other First Ones had left them alone when they realized what their plans entailed. They wouldn't stop the Vorlons, but they wouldn't stand by their side either, so most chose to leave. Very few remained, but even those were ignoring them now. It was inevitable. They'd grown impatient, and disinterested in the Cause. But none of the First Ones had ever really thought the Time Lords would come knocking about the old Compact. The Vorlons had kept their meddling as quiet, and as separate from themselves, as they could. The Time Lord's arrival had surprised everyone. But now the Vorlons were confident. Not him, Kosh. He'd never been more afraid in his life.

He'd hoped the Time Lord would leave. He still hoped he'd give him the chance to redeem himself, his people. It was his guilt, and it weighed heavily on him. But the others didn't care, and Kosh was divided between his fear and the demands the others placed upon him. Had he lost his way? Had them?

A knock on the door. "Enter," he whispered, and the door opened.

The Time Lord. He'd put on the breather, from the shelf outside his quarters, available to all visitors for surviving in his native atmosphere, but once inside, he removed it. He didn't need it. He wasn't Human.

"You called," the Doctor said.

"Yes."

The Doctor stood there, waiting, face blank, until Kosh couldn't stand it any longer.

"The others won't accept. You must not interfere," the Vorlon said. The Time Lord continued standing, silent, as if frozen. 

Kosh suddenly had another vision. Many other faces, superimposed upon the one he was seeing. He realized they really didn't know, or understand, the Time Lords. Unlike the First Ones in this galaxy, they made a point of looking like one of the younger races. He idly wondered why they'd chosen Humans to look like, but it didn't matter. The Vorlons, and Shadows, and the others, they all looked great, terrible, to the young ones. They commanded respect, reverence, even fear. The Time Lords didn't. Why not?

He was now completely sure it was a mask, and that the Time Lords were unfathomably different from what they'd imagined. The one before him, for instance, he, they, had been many others before. They'd done terrible things.

"I am sorry," Kosh sang, in his own language. The translator did its best, but there was no way to convey the immensity of his feelings in the limited verbal language he had to use in order to communicate. There were no words to express the depth of his regrets, the existential conflict he was in. But the other seemed to understand anyway. They nodded. Perhaps they did understand the nuances of his language.

"And you?" The Storm asked. "What will you do?" But it wasn't a question. Kosh could hear the harmonies of his own language underneath. Some type of telepathy, he understood, completely different from his own. He didn't know how the other managed it, but they could understand each other. And the Time Lord had chosen a little-used variant of the Vorlons' theme, placing the usual 'who are you' existential question in the dynamic of time, implying it was now Kosh's own choice. 

He understood. This was not about redemption, or forgiveness. The Time Lord would do as they must, and their judgment would come to the Vorlons anyway. All Kosh could do, should do, was to be faithful to who he was.

Kosh nodded. He felt alone, but now he wasn't afraid any more. He was free. Free from a nightmare that had lasted way too long.

* * *

Even before he knocked at the door to the Vorlon's quarters, the Doctor had felt the timelines shifting. He'd stopped in the anteroom, wary, before proceeding. Whatever it was, he'd deal with it. But as they started talking, he slowly understood. And froze, cold dread filling his hearts.

Kosh was a very strong focal point, one that had been in play for many millennia. He'd already sensed that. But the Doctor's presence here was catalysing something unexpected at this moment in time. The Vorlon probably wasn't fully aware of the fact, but for a while now he'd been about to make a decision that would change the future of this galaxy. The Doctor had learned as much from the Observatory's records. All that was needed were the right circumstances. 

And this talk with him was it. The Doctor shivered. Kosh had already made his decision, from the moment he mentioned the other Vorlons, though he wasn't aware of it yet, much less its repercussions. But the Doctor was. He'd seen Kosh's path leading to the future. A path that, originally, would lead to his death, but now, because it was triggered too early, that future was in flux. It was beautiful, exhilarating, history in the making. And terrifying, because he was now trapped inside it. It was his own presence triggering it. The Doctor was no longer someone trying to watch and influence things from the margins. He was a player now.

He knew it'd happen eventually. He'd come in prepared for that. But not so soon after his arrival. He hadn't even learned all that was happening yet, and from the inside it was that much more difficult to see things clearly.

"I am sorry," Kosh said. The Doctor wasn't sure if the Vorlon realized what had just happened. Possibly, he mused. The Vorlons had a touch of time-sensitivity themselves. The older one was, the more they could sense. And Kosh was ancient. He certainly softened his attitude, and it was reflected in the atmosphere of the room, induced by the Vorlon's telepathic projection. It'd been like experiencing a crash in slow motion. No, not a crash, the opposite. A crystallization, a piece falling in the right place and causing everything else to rearrange around it in a new pattern. Everything was different now. With the Doctor right in the middle of it.

"And you? What will you do?" He asked, because he had to. He had to swim with the current, or be dragged by it, kicking and screaming until he drowned. Very few Time Lords had ever experienced it, but this was old hat for him. He internally shrugged, he'd have time to fall to pieces later, in the privacy of his own room.

Kosh nodded, and proceeded to tell him all the plans on the side of Order. That was probably what the other Vorlons were expecting him to do, but not perhaps in the way he was doing it. The Vorlon ambassador's opinion about the plans of his people could be heard in the tone of his voice and his choice of words. The Doctor understood. This Vorlon and him, they had something in common, something that made both different, separate from their respective kinds. Kosh cared.

* * *

After the Time Lord finally left, Kosh felt drained, his tiredness mixed with relief. He wondered what he'd do next. He'd told the Storm all of their plans, all of their knowledge, shared their dreams and hopes, while the other listened without judgment. It had been expected of him, some of this sharing at least. After all, the others had ordered him to warn off the Time Lord from interfering with their plans. He himself doubted any of them could stop the Storm if they set their mind to something.

He didn't know what the Doctor was going to do with all that information, but it didn't matter now. The Doctor had only told him to go ahead with closing the time loop. Of course, breaking it now would be more problematic than letting it complete. It also gave him hope that the Storm wasn't completely indifferent to the fate of the younger ones. He knew it was weak of him, but he'd grown rather fond of some of them. Sometimes he even regretted how much they suffered because of him.

* * *

When the Doctor finally arrived at the door to his quarters, he felt his TARDIS singing in his mind, and quickly ran inside. There she was, sitting in the corner of the small bedroom. He rushed into the console room, curious to see what had delayed her moving in from the courier ship. After all, it'd been one of the first things he'd done when unpacking that day, his planting the beacon marking the spot he'd chosen for her, so she could easily move in by herself. And there it was, in one screen, the timeline configuration that resulted from his talk with Kosh. She'd probably felt it before it happened, and waited until it had stabilized before moving, to avoid interfering with the delicate configuration. He should have guessed it. He was still part of that timeline, so he couldn't be certain, but it was shaping up like a nascent fixed point, even more so because a Time Lord was involved.

He sighed. Not even a full Earth day from the moment he arrived, and he was already in deeper than he ever intended to be. Part of a fixed point. They'd be laughing at him in the Capitol.

There were reasons Time Lords weren't supposed to interfere, and this was one of them. Whenever they meddled, they tended to make things harder, or even impossible, for others to fix later if necessary. But he'd never been the cause for a fixed point before, from what he could remember. Anyway, the High Council had passed him the responsibility, and they wouldn't care. If he messed things up, he'd only have himself to blame. They might arrest him later, throwing him in the darkest, deepest cell, and that would only be the smallest part of what he'd deserve.

He sat in the pilot's chair, and removed the diminutive filters from each nostril, putting them back inside an inner pocket. They'd supplemented his respiration bypass, so he could stay in that nasty Vorlon atmosphere without ill effects for long enough. He'd thought that might have been necessary, facing the Vorlon without the breather mask, in case he felt the need to project his Oncoming Storm face, to bluff and convince the Vorlon to let him 'investigate'.

Instead, he now had a Vorlon ambassador halfway convinced to side with him against his own people. He was not certain if it was worth the mess. But he doubted he could have prevented it from happening.

The silent reverberations of the settling timelines were combining with the crushing realization of the responsibility upon his shoulders, and for a brief moment they seemed about to overcome his defenses. He trembled, but then three little lights started to blink in the console before him, attracting his attention and dispelling his somber mood.

"What is it, Old Girl?" He stood, worried, and clicked buttons and flipped switches, attempting to diagnose what was wrong. "Oh. Oh, the secondary hyperdimensional grid is out of alignment! That's bad! Why haven't you warned me earlier?" He scolded the console, but his smile and the glint in his eyes betrayed his true sentiments. He briefly caressed the console, before jumping down to gather his tools to do some very well-timed repairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually replay the same conversation from a different perspective, but here, between the Doctor and Kosh, I had to replay a small piece of it, because their perspectives are so different, and because it's such a crucial moment for both of them. Yes, it came way too soon, and yes, not even I was expecting it so early.  
> There'll be at least one more, most likely two, chapters dealing with the immediate aftermath of the Doctor's arrival on Babylon 5, before we move on with a short original adventure. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos!


End file.
